Page 62 of Sight of Fate

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting at a small wooden bar, the oak gleaming with polish, while I sip on a delicious mocktail and wait for my soup. Fresh bread and the aroma of home cooking fill the air. I pull in a deep breath, savoring the smell that reminds me of home.

“Here you go, Charli. Your favorite,” says Vic, the older gentleman who owns the café. He stays for a second to ask me how I’ve been, then rushes off to take someone else’s order.

I smile. It’s nice to have someone recognize me. And not because of Teague or Macklin. And while it can be annoying when everyone knows your business, it’s pretty great when someone also knows your favorite soup.

Steam rises from the spoon, and I blow to cool it down, then tentatively take a bite. The rich, creamy broth filled with potatoes reminds me of my mother’s soup; she’d learned it from her grandmother. My mom tried to teach me, but I never liked cooking. My mouth turns down. Now the recipe is lost forever.

Breaking off a piece of crusty bread, I dip it in the bowl and sop up the remaining liquid, then pop it into my mouth. An odd sensation crawls up the back of my neck, but when I turn, nobody’s there. With a frown, I ask Vic for the check and cash out. I’ve stayed longer than I thought and now it’s completely pitch-black outside.

I zip up my coat and head out the side door toward the parking lot where my car sits under the streetlight. Something darts in front of me, and I let out a little scream. It turns into a laugh when I see a striped grey cat jump onto the nearby dumpster and disappear.

“Think she’ll scream like that for me?”

I whirl around and find four strange men standing behind my car. Where did they come from? A frisson of fear slides down my spine when I get a good look at them. Two of them are tall and lean, with long, raggedy hair that obscures most of their features, except for the glowing yellow eyes that tells me they’re something other than human. The shorter, third man wears his greasy black hair slicked back. His wide grin displays rows of sharp teeth. I swallow hard. Definitely not human. My gaze moves to the fourth man. Not as big as Macklin but damn close. His bald head is covered with ink, and those bright eyes are fixed on me with unnerving intensity. This can’t be good.

Teague! I silently shout, shoving my plea down the connection between us, knowing he’s probably too far away to hear, but unable to stop myself.

Darting a glance from one end of the parking lot to the other, there’s nothing but asphalt and snow as far as I can see. Heart racing, I take a step back, then another. One of them smirks. My hand grazes the handle of my car, and I turn to open the door, only to have someone slam my body into the cold metal.

“Maybe she’ll scream like that for all of us,” Martin murmurs in my ear.

Terror shoots through me, and a little whimper escapes.

Martin yanks me off the car and turns me toward the parking lot and the four men. “Not that it will do you any good. See those rocks there and there?”

I follow his finger to the half-dome rocks spaced across the parking lot and nod.

“Thanks to a lovely witch I know, nobody is going to see or hear anything going on in here,” he informs me, his eyes lighting up when understanding dawns on my face. “Our own little playground.” He unzips my coat and runs his hands down the front of my body, squeezing and pinching until I cry out.

A tall, brown-haired woman walks by, and I immediately start screaming for her to help me, but not once does she glance in our direction.

“There. You see?” All five of them chuckle.

A cold, biting wind sweeps through the parking lot, echoing the realization spreading through my limbs. Nobody is coming to help me.

Martin gestures to my body. “Normally, I wouldn’t fuck such a scrawny bitch, but the thought of sticking it to Andros and Teague is giving me a hard-on the size of Texas.”

The bald guy tilts his tattooed head. “She’s pretty in the face and those lips…” He grabs his crotch, and I almost retch.

A couple of the men exchange nervous glances, and one of them backs up. “You didn’t tell us she belonged to them.”

Martin laughs. “Davis, weren’t you the one saying you’d do anything to get back at that asshole Macklin for kicking out that little girlfriend of yours?” The man mumbles a yes. “Here’s your chance. Probably the only one you’ll ever get.”

As they talk, I continue to scream for Teague while sending him pictures of the café’s sign. Silence is my only answer.

Martin’s hand slides down and undoes the top button on my pants. Bile rushes into my throat, and I thrash and scream for help. It doesn’t faze him. He unbuttons the rest and drags me to the rear of my vehicle.

“Your puny strength is no match for a shifter,” he says, ripping the keys from my hand and tossing them to one of the men. “Open the hatch.”

I lift my feet and plant them against the hatch to keep it shut, but Martin backs up a few steps, and they fall uselessly to the ground. I scan the ground for a rock or piece of glass but find nothing. Desperate, I reach back and grab his dick, twisting as hard as I can.

“Fuck!” he roars, tossing me into the bald guy’s arms as he cups his junk and cusses up a blue streak.

If I thought Martin was strong, the man holding me now has arms like steel. Every kick and hit I aim in his direction is met with amusement. But I don’t stop. I can’t. Not while there is breath left in my body.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHARLI